


these scars aren't for my costume

by 26stars



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/F, Healing, How are we supposed to know what month canon events happened in anyway, It's always the little things that make recovery such a long road, Promtober 2019, Pumpkin carving, Recovery, References to canon injuries and surgeries, Sharing a Shower, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-10 16:24:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20854760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/26stars/pseuds/26stars
Summary: The rest of the team is carving pumpkins for Halloween, but Bobbi and May have another project to take care of.Expanded version of a MayBobbi drabble from August





	these scars aren't for my costume

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lazyfish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyfish/gifts).

> So, I was tying up this fic a few days ago and figured I'd wait to post it in October for Earth v Space points, but then I challenged myself to try and work in one of the Promptober prompts. So if these two things seem really to not go together...you're right XD
> 
> For Al, who deserves it <3

Considering how many knives are on that table, Bobbi guesses that anyone in any other profession would say that there should be less alcohol on it as well, but it’s pretty on brand for the people gathered around it. If this team does anything consistently besides suffer, it’s drink. No one’s even close to tipsy yet, and that might still be the case when it’s all over, but nothing they ever do is conventional, so why should carving pumpkins be any different?

Bobbi watches the flurry of activity from her place near the sofa, trying to predict what each person is about to carve into their respective pumpkins. Something goofy from Daisy—maybe a ghoulish face or an exceptionally snaggletoothed smile. Mack will keep it classic, the grinning jack-o-lantern that everyone imagines when they hear the term. Simmons will outdo everyone, probably something with contours and shading, either a standout face or the Tardis… Fitz will be too cool for it (especially since Daisy had made the rule on the spot that this competition was ‘knives only and no mousehole arc lights or other technological assistance allowed’) and will just walk around observing (critiquing) the others and will be the hardest on Daisy and Simmons because he loves them most. Hunter…well, he’s avoiding the cheesiness now, but Bobbi knows he’s never been able to resist a party. If he picks up a knife, he’ll probably just carve the straight lines resembling Ironman’s helmet and call it a day. Coulson, with his left arm still encased in a sling, is sitting the activity out of course, but he’s been designated the pumpkin judge for later. Bobbi had been invited to participate of course, and Daisy had impressively walked the fine line of trying to cater to her needs without being totally patronizing, but Bobbi had deferred the invitation and taken a place on a sidelines.

She still has no desire to pick up anything that feels like a weapon.

She feels May’s presence before she sees her, feels a gentle hand brush over her good shoulder, and looks up. The slightly sad smile on May’s face probably mirrors her own, and Bobbi is thankful for that.

“Now’s a good time,” May says quietly, “while they’re all busy.”

Bobbi nods, looking back at the crowd while May puts her hands on the handles of the wheelchair and silently pushes her from the room, down the hall towards their bunk. She hates to miss the show, but they’ve got an opportunity and ought to take it. May backs her through their bunk’s door and closes it firmly behind them.

Undressing is an arduous process these days.

Bobbi can get her own shirt off slowly enough, tucking her good arm inside one sleeve and then slowly maneuvering it off her neck and healing shoulder with the arm that’s still flexible. Unhooking a bra with one hand and shrugging it off is manageable, but sports bras present a different challenge. What was once a carefree maneuver as now no longer possible without stabbing pain in her healing shoulder or an extra set of hands. Unstrapping the brace from around her leg is the easiest action, but flexing her knee slightly, stretching anything that hasn’t moved all day…agony. Getting out of the wheelchair and maintaining her balance on her good leg while pushing down her pants and underwear is possible, then pulling on her bathrobe, kicking the clothes out of the wheelchair’s path, and sitting down again to make her way to her bedroom door (which of course doesn’t have automatic capability…)

It all _sucks_. Or at least, it _would_ suck if she didn’t have help.

Currently, there’s only one shower in the whole Playground with handicapped modifications, but Coulson has already put people to work remedying that. Grip bars and fold-down seats are being installed in all the showers across the base, something that ought to make Bobbi happy but will likely become only a grim reminder of what highlighted a need for them. Bobbi keeps her eyes straight ahead as May wheels her down the hallways to the best available bathroom and turns them to back through the swinging door. No one else is around (by design of course—they’ve figured out when the traffic is lowest), and May wheels her straight up to the accommodating shower. Wordlessly, Bobbi sets the brakes and moves the footrests while May fetches her shower caddy from the shelf.

Holding May’s hand tightly, Bobbi grips the bar on the shower wall and pulls herself to her feet, stepping into the stall with May, who pulls the curtain before helping Bobbi out of her robe and then shrugging off her own. Bobbi seats herself on the bench while May hangs the garments outside the stall and points the showerhead at the corner, not straight at them, and turns on the water. Once she gets the water’s temperature comfortable, she turns the head downwards again and helps Bobbi to her feet.

A removable showerhead would be a game-changer here, but no one’s gotten around to installing one of those here yet. Bobbi wouldn’t have attempted a shower standing up in the first couple of weeks after her release from the med-bay—they maintained a sponge-baths and sink-hairwashes lifestyle during those first painful days. But now that she’s been cleared to start PT and stand for limited amounts of time, Bobbi is ready to attempt a shower with assistance. May’s partly there for moral support, but also as a spotter in case things don’t go as expected.

With her good hand tight around the bar, Bobbi slowly rotates under the shower spray and allows her hair to get soaked, then offers her other hand for the shampoo May squirts into her palm. Bringing her hand up to her head triggers a little bit of teeth-gritting as damaged muscles are stretched and contracted in forgotten ways, but Bobbi pushes through it with only a wince an manages to work the shampoo unevenly through her hair. Normally this is a two-handed action, but she’s afraid to let go of the bar and put any more wait on her foot, and May seems to understand, because as soon as Bobbi turns away, another pair of hands takes over the task.

Washing her body follows a similar pattern, with Bobbi taking a seat on the bench and scrubbing herself down with a cloth and body wash while May takes a turn under the showerhead to quickly wash her own hair. When she’s done, she helps Bobbi to her feet again, stepping away and scrubbing her own body while Bobbi rinses off. When she’s done, Bobbi turns around to see May’s jaw is clenched tight, an action Bobbi knows is only to keep her teeth from chattering, so it’s not a completely selfish action when she slips an arm around May’s shoulders and tugs her to stand flush against her body under the warm spray. Her good arm remains around the bar in a death grip, but with May like this, Bobbi feels far less afraid.

They stay like that until Bobbi literally can’t stand any longer, and May steps away to grab their robes while Bobbi shuts off the water. One arm at a time, May helps her into it, then opens the curtain to help Bobbi carefully back into the wheelchair.

Before they leave the bathroom, May wheels her up to the mirror and pulls a wide-toothed comb from her own shower caddy. Combing her own hair is one thing that isn’t outside Bobbi’s power, but Bobbi doesn’t object to May doing it for her, especially when it’s one of the only physically painless things the two of them can enjoy at once. Obviously, neither of them have been in the mood to do anything in bed beyond kiss and cuddle, and Bobbi’s own stiff, healing body certainly won’t tolerate much more than that anyway right now. But something about this whole ritual in the bathroom still feels scarily intimate, not something Bobbi would ever wish on someone else, but something she’s now glad she can sympathize with.

Stripped down, literally and figuratively, almost completely helpless in front of this woman who saved her life, there’s a temptation to feel ashamed, but she doesn’t. Frustrated, yes. Exhausted already by the long road of recovery still ahead, definitely. But not ashamed.

May’s not here because Bobbi has anything to offer her—she’s here because she loves her. And that’s everything.

Once Bobbi’s hair is combed out and securely plaited in a tight French braid, May holds the bathroom door open and Bobbi carefully wheels herself back out into the hall. May takes over again on the other side and moves her quickly back through the cold halls to their room. Back there, they repeat the arduous process of dressing, which Bobbi still needs a lot of help with. She can get her bottoms over her knees but then needs to stand with May supporting her in order to get them up to her waist, then she needs May’s extra hands to get even her favorite bras on or fastened. She can get her own t-shirt in the amount of time it takes May to dress completely and hang their robes up on the hooks on the back of the door. When she turns around again, their eyes meet, and Bobbi reaches for her leg brace. May kneels in front of her, and they complete the last step of wrapping the brace carefully back around her healing knee and propping it appropriately again on the chair’s leg rest. May also eases a warm pair of socks onto Bobbi’s feet, and then they’re finally, finally done.

May remains kneeling at her feet for a long moment after that though, her forehead resting on Bobbi’s good knee and face hidden. Reaching out, Bobbi gently combs her nails through May’s damp hair, offering some of the only physical comfort she can. May raises her head, their expressions likely mirroring each other’s again—tired but hopeful.

She has a long road ahead—_they_ have a long road ahead, yes. But they have it because May saved her.

“Let’s go find out who won,” Bobbi suggests, attempting a smile.

“And make sure no one lost a finger,” May adds, climbing to her feet and taking her place behind Bobbi again, where she’s thankful she always comes back to.

Supporting her and moving her forward, where Bobbi hopes she’ll always be.


End file.
